Mindless
by Ryn Temple
Summary: A crazy DMC fic where our heroes are in high school, featuring Dante (who may or may not be a virgin), emo Vergil, Trish in a bunny suit, and some Very Disturbing Revelations. Language, sexual content, and alcohol abuse. CHAP. 2 UP! R&R, por favor.
1. The Nightmare Begins

**Summed up**: A crazy, humorous, and slightly indecent DMC fic where our kids all know each other. It takes place while our heroes are in high school, featuring a drunk, jittery teenage Dante (who may or may not be a virgin), emo Vergil, karaoke, Dante's ambitions for an amusement park, and lots and lots of snogs and terribly abrupt transitions. Dangerous curves ahead. smile A high PG-13 for language, violence, sexual content, and alcohol abuse.

**DISCLAIMER**: Devil May Cry and all related characters and indicia and whatnot are © Capcom, and by no means do I claim ownership over Devil May Cry or its related characters or indicia, and by no means am I affiliated with Capcom in anyway, though I'd like to be.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** for this fiction it's a pretty much anything-goes deal. Vergil is emo, Trish is their somewhat jealous best friend, and there may or may not be some crossover characters borrowed from various stories/games/movies. This also features my own original characters as well. This means that, aside from the basic info, I'm pretty much restylizing the characters. All our plot hotties are around the age of 16-17, making them…juniors in high school? Yep, that'd be it. They're a lusty lot, so expect the rating to fluctuate from PG-13 to a slight R, for indecency and language. Sorry D/V kids, there will be no twincest (runs away as arrows come flying out of the air), and just to keep you happy, Dante sings in a shockingly sexy tenor voice. 'Cause tenors kick ass. Dante is incredibly sexy and should be a tenor. 3

I'd have to say about 85% of this story has been fabricated from my head, the other fifteen percent subconsciously influenced by my friends and various sources. References will be cited at the end of each chapter. In case you were wondering, because our heroes are at a tender age, Devil May Cry is, at this point, nonexistent. Dante will not be pulling a Buffy and slaying demons in high school. He has yet to do many, many things before answering the call of duty.

**MOVING ON**: And so as not to bore you anymore, here's a quick descrippy of the scene: Dante and Vergil's house on their seventeenth birthday, not so much a house as the dark, nicely creepy ornate Sparda Manor, a residence with foreboding and rather indecent things lying in wait. For the hell of it, we'll say that the parents are vacationing in hell. It's located in a town that, for the sake of it having a name, is called Haskell, although it would probably be better to remove the ASK. It's early in the evening, and there is a party. Biiiiiiiiiiiiiig party. Well, not yet, but there very soon will be. We'll see how it goes from here.

Enjoy.

- RT

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS**

**"I can compromise with a blow-up doll."**

"Trish, you are NOT WEARING THAT," Dante Sparda yelled upon the devil girl's entrance into Dante's room.

Trish stood there, pouting, looking unsettlingly like a dominatrix in very tight, very scant bits of black leather held together by bits of metal and studs. In her hand she held what looked like—was that a whip?!

"You're not my mother," the devil girl replied, looking mutinous.

Dante tsk'ed and rolled his eyes. "And I'm not letting you wear HOOKER CLOTHES just because you look like mine." He closed his eyes for a moment, considering this, and consequently going to a very bad mental place. "_Especially_ because you look like mine."

"Right, right, I get it," she muttered, turning and preparing to flounce out like a child that had been denied candy. "You know, Vergil would—"

"I don't want to know," said Dante hastily. "Really. I _don't_ want to know. Just—get some clothes on, for the love of God—well, not really, but—oh, screw it, Trish, just get some fucking clothes on, I don't care of you lose them later on, that's your business, but you are _not_ running around with belts serving as your top and—er—pants, not a long as I am conscious in the room!" He paused to consider this at length, and added, "AND YOU BETTER NOT WHILE I'M _UNCONSCIOUS_ IN THE ROOM EITHER!" He nudged her toward the door, guiding her by the shoulders. He took very great care not to let any part of him touch her below the shoulders.

Trish looked more mutinous than ever as she stepped out the door. But she was nonetheless amused at Dante's attitude toward this. "Jeez, devil boy, I'm going, don't get your panties in a bunch," she said, her eyes twinkling. Measuring his uncommon reaction, a strange question crossed her mind.

"Dante?"

He turned around, his hair falling into his face as his head snapped in her direction, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. His nose was adorably wrinkled, and his ice eyes blazed with questioning.

"What?"

She paused, cocking her head to the side, and couldn't help but smirk. "Are you—are you a virgin?"

Dante looked startled for a moment, before yelling, "OUT, TRISH!" With a sort of victorious-but not-quite finality, he closed the door.

"Well, that tells me nothing," said Trish, as she stood staring at the ornate mahogany door, feeling quite defeated, and if somewhat unsatisfied.

------------

A half an hour later she emerged from her reserved guest room wearing a skin tight black halter top and a ruffly black miniskirt that barely brushed the tops of her thighs. Her long blond hair was down, tapering loosely over her slim body.

Dante was outside the door, leaning on the banister and waiting for her. So was Vergil. Dante's silvery white hair haloed his pale face, though even with his hair in his eyes he couldn't mask the intensely cold hard blueness of them. He was in a black shirt made out of what looked like very expensive material, and his pants were black leather, his hands shoved in the pockets, giving him an air of casual, offhand elegance. Vergil looked so much like Dante, so much that you couldn't tell the two apart, save for the faint, jagged scar on Dante's cheek. No one would know how he got the scar but Dante himself—whoever (or whatever) inflicted that scar couldn't possibly be alive to brag about it, knowing Dante. He didn't let anyone mess with him.

And because Vergil wore emo glasses. Trish wondered vaguely if it was because she had often said she liked emo guys. Since then, Vergil had been blasting Taking Back Sunday and The All-American Rejects on his CD player, brooding and staring mistily through his glasses while looking impressively good in his baggy pants and Dashboard Confessional shirt.

But today Vergil wore a shirt that looked like the white version of his twin's, and the same black leather pants.

"Much better," she thought she heard Dante mutter under this breath.

Vergil did not appear to have noticed. "Nice clothes, Trish," he said, eyeing her up and down unabashedly.

"A big improvement," Dante agreed. "At least now she HAS clothes."

"That's so cute of you, thank you, Dante," Trish replied, rolling her eyes. "Remind me to get you a stuffed animal."

"Aww. A stuffed animal for our birthday, just what he wanted," said Vergil sarcastically. "We just turned seventeen. I think a subscription to _Maxim_ or _Penthouse_ would be much more fitting."

"I can compromise with a blow-up doll."

Dante, looking either greatly pleased or greatly disturbed, opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short by the doorbell. It echoed ominously through the house.

"You guys better get it," said Trish lazily, as they all descended down the grand staircase, a feature like something on the _Titanic_. "You _are_ the birthday boys, after all."

"Hardly boys anymore," Vergil reminded her. He and Dante went ahead of Trish, leaping from the thirteenth step simultaneously, both falling through the air with perfect synchronization and landing on one knee, looking like ninjas ready to pounce. The Sparda twins, Trish thought, half in annoyance and half in admiration. Always making a show of things.

The double doors to the manor had small windows with bars instead of glass, making it seem very disturbingly like a prison, or a dungeon. Each twin took a door by the brass ring and proceeded to pull the doors open with what appeared to be no effort, though the doors were, even for devils, very hard to open.

A girl with black hair and a very short black skirt stood in the doorway, along with two boys—one very tall, with apple-red hair, the other a green-eyed boy with ink black hair.

"Mat," said Vergil, smiling widely. The girl from his chem class. The one who fenced and wore those deliciously tight white knickers that got bunched up around her thighs and other interesting places when she lunged. "I didn't think you'd come."

Mat returned his smile, laughing. "I wouldn't have missed it," she told him, looking at both Vergil and Dante. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything." She looked at Vergil, who had not exactly been looking her in the eye (she wore a low-cut black top), tilted his head and kissed him, a kiss that, as Trish noted, went on a bit too long and used a bit too much tongue to be considered friendly. She pulled back, licking his lips and smiling, before taking a step toward Dante and doing the same thing, only she put her hands somewhere that made Dante's eyes grow the size of dinner plates.

Trish sneezed in a way that Vergil believed couldn't have been coincidental in the slightest.

Mat took her time with Dante, though, and when she had finished, her gaze traveled lazily to Trish.

"Oh. Hi. I know you from school—Trish?"

Trish looked oddly reserved. "Something like that," she managed in a strangled voice. "Be right back. I have to go get some chips." She exited, muttering something under her breath. Vergil was close enough to hear "wankers," "slutbag," and "get to third."

Mat continued, motioning to the boys who stood on either side of her. "This is Jule—" The one with the dark hair waved. "—and Luca." The red haired boy smiled, his teeth flashing like porcelain bullets.

Vergil and Dante greeted them in turn, welcoming them inside. Pretty soon more people were pouring in, some of them friends, others complete strangers, but rather good-looking strangers, so the twins didn't really mind, although Trish's lips seemed to purse into even thinner lines as more scantily-dressed girl walked through the door.

"Dunno why she minds so much," Dante said to Vergil as they nodded at a random crowd in welcome. "You should have seen what she was wearing earlier."

A funny look crossed Vergil's face. "Oh, I did."

"It was a lot worse than what most of these girls are wearing."

"Yeah, but it was really easy to take off."

"FEHH," said Dante, looking startled. "I did NOT need to know that." He hesitated. "You—you and Trish—"

Vergil rolled his eyes. "What do you think? And she sleeps over all the time."

Dante looked more unsettled. "She does?"

"Mhmmmm."

"How come I never see her, then?"

"We spend a lot of time in my room, er, going over our calculus homework."

"Verg, you failed geometry twice. You don't even take calculus."

Vergil looked rather pink in the face and tried to casually sidle away.

Dante said, "argh," or something like it, before walking off. This had been something of a revelation. A disturbing one, at that.

And Trish's question earlier—where had that come from?

An idea suddenly formulating in his head, he grabbed for a beer bottle, and started to search for Mat.

------------

_I'm not jealous I'm not jealous I'm not jealous._

Trish found that she had to continually mutter that to herself ever since that girl kissed Vergil and Dante. She strode into the kitchens, looking for a bag of chips, which she probably wouldn't find. Oh, maybe spicy chips. Vergil seemed to like spicy chips okay.

_Slore._

"What's a slore?" Vergil had asked her, their freshman year, when she used it to describe their Latin teacher as they sat through a particularly boring class. Their teacher had somehow gotten to the subject of lemurs and didn't appear to be ending that topic of conversation soon.

"A slut whore," Trish had replied, then when Vergil asked why she pointed out that Ms. McGinnis had gotten a feel of his ass. Oddly, Vergil didn't seem to mind very much, at least not about the part where his bum had gotten grabbed.

Lucia, who had been sitting next to them, her hair wavy and perfect and shining like rubies, was quick to mention that Mrs. McGinnis had gotten a feel of her ass, too.

It's not surprising, Trish thought, returning back to the present and retrieving a bag. Yes, there were spicy chips, and when Trish removed the bag from the cabinet, she found a stash of dirty magazines.

Sure, she was a blonde, and created with numinous features, but Lucia, Lucia had been perfect. All that red hair and flawless skin and her lithe, slender form and her ass, not that she had been looking.

Lucia would be here tonight. Lucia would be here, with her French accent, her nice, sharp weapons, her leather boots, and probably not much else.

Without realizing it, Trish squeezed the bag of chips. It promptly exploded in her hands.

Dante chose at that minute to walk in, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his left hand, catching Trish off guard. So he was a lefty. He looked, with some degree of shock, from the food on the floor, to the bag in Trish's hands, to Trish's strangled expression, to the pile of _Pussymania_ magazines that were toppling onto the counter from the cabinet.

He closed his dropped jaw, and he was able to say, "Because those definitely aren't mine, you know."

Trish just grumbled in disgust before heading out the door.

"Oh, shut up, Dante. Just _shut up_."

She walked into the corridors, ignoring the portraits, whose inhabitants' eyes were glowing a faint orangey-red. She had learned long ago to appreciate the vaguely creepy elegance of the manor, the cold ornate furnishings and forbidding, dark drapery. But it didn't strike her now, even with its history of containing the Spardas' demonic predecessors, who often resided here in human form, doing dastardly evil things. Apparently, Sparda was one of the few more benevolent devils in the line, as illustrated by a tapestry of the twin's great uncle Julius decapitating a peasant woman who had apparently stolen one of his prized demon chickens.

The doorbell rang. Trish sighed. Maybe it was Lucia, if she wasn't already here. Maybe it would be a horde of really hot guys.

She ran for the door, pushing through the growing crowd. With some difficulty, she was able to open one door, crack it open, and peer outside.

_What. The. HELL._

That thought, among many, popped into her head, as she stared dropped-jaw at a girl with blonde hair and pale blue eyes who looked no older than eighteen (_barely legal_, Trish thought irritably), dressed in something that resembled a white velvet leotard, with a bit more frontal support. She had a pretty face, the face of a porn star. The girl sported bunny ears, a black bow tie, and held a carrot that looked suspiciously like it was made of plastic and was used for purposes not nearly related to eating. Trish would have bet Vergil's entire porn collection that this girl was wearing a fluffy tail, too.

And Vergil had a pretty damn big porn collection.

She must have been staring a long time, her blazing eyes that were unnervingly like the twins' boring into the girl's paler ones, because the girl coughed uncomfortably and said, "Um, h-hi—I'm here for the Spardas?"

Trish stared.

"Vergil hired me—um, this _is _the Sparda Manor, right? Because I'm pretty sure…"

But Trish was not paying attention at all. She was suddenly struck with an idea. Oh, it was a bad idea, one that would probably get her into a lot of trouble. But it was sadistically appealing. Oh, yes. She would jump at this chance. No way would she pass this one up.

The girl at the doorstep looked slightly scared. "Um, hello…?"

Suddenly looking up and smiling, Trish slid out the door and violently tackled the girl to the ground. Her victim let out a horrified squeak before her head hit the pavement and she went unconscious.

Now sitting squarely on Bunny Girl's hips, Trish smiled, reaching for the bunny ears still securely nestled in the unconscious girl's locks, and viciously pulled them out. She eyed them thoughtfully for a minute, and then with sudden fervor she slipped them on, a fluffy-eared crown on her own shining blonde hair.

"This," said Trish to herself with a grin, "is going to be one hell of a night."

* * *

And so that ends our first chapter, which, I admit, was a bit short, and we didn't get much Vergilness. Don't worry, we'll see more of him in the upcoming chapters—I've planned at least six. Sorry, just wanted to get this started—this DMC fic is my first on (which I will treasure for months to come), with many more to come, and not just of Devil May Cry. YAY!

Comments/criticisms/opinions/suggestions more than welcome. Reviews are nifty, kids.

An update and new chapter should be in within the next day or two. Yay! Expect a bit more of some Dante jitteriness (he couldn't have always been so smooth and seductive), the full extent of Trish's evil plan, and if Vergil wears boxers or briefs.

**REFERENCES**

The title of the chapter is from the very first Invader Zim episode. Invader Zim kicks ass. draws hearts around Gir's name

"Remind me to get you a stuffed animal." – Taken from a random Buffy/Kendra dialogue.

The part about Luca smiling and "his teeth flashing like porcelain bullets," is, I think, something out of one of Francesca Lia Block's works. Bless that woman.

I wrote the blow-up doll part when I remembered what our chorus director told us not to bring with us on tour in Seattle. :D

And _Pussymania_ was a name taken from randomly in my mind. I'm not even sure if that's an actual magazine, I wouldn't know, and frankly, I wouldn't want to. OO So, I digress.

READ REVIEW! :D 


	2. Dante Must Drink!

**IN THIS CHAPTER**: We will see bunny Trish, the author's take on the twins' lives so far, Vergil plays a strip game, Dante wants to own an amusement park when he grows up, Lucia shows up, and there is evil afoot. Yay evil!

**DISCLAIMER**: Devil May Cry and all related characters and indicia and whatnot are © Capcom, and by no means do I claim ownership over Devil May Cry or its related characters or indicia, and by no means am I affiliated with Capcom in anyway, though I'd like to be.

**THANK YOU**: to Koyukitori, my first reviewer (heart) YAY! ::SMOOCH:: Pay her a visit!

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: DANTE MUST DRINK!**

Since Vergil and Dante had learned to walk they had been causing trouble for their devil father and human mother. Sure, they were able to understand love and all, and they certainly did love their parents—but at an age when they didn't know how to use a toilet, love admittedly didn't count for much.

At the age of two, Vergil put the entirety of his peas and mashed potato lunch in Arion's seat, ruining his father's immaculate leather trousers (Sparda Sparda would not have been a very good name to put a mortal's driver's license, and so their father adopted a name found in Greek mythology). Dante stuck forks into sockets. When the family had a cat (one that Dante, who like his twin was able to speak at nine months, adamantly insisted with his childhood lisp should be named "Luthifer"), Vergil was intent on trapping it in a blender. At the tender age of three, there was a memorable incident in which Dante drank too much Red Bull, climbed to the top of one of the bookshelves in the manor's library, and jumped off of it, screaming, "I HAVE WINGTH!" He consequently broke his leg and found out that he had to get a cast, and upon that revelation his twin decided to jump out of his second story window and break one of his legs as well.

It was this sort of twinly behavior that got them into the most trouble.

Their father had wanted to keep the boys at home during their early years, but their mother had insisted on sending them to preschool—no sons of Eva Sparda's, half-devils or not, would miss out on an education. So they were enrolled into the Diamond Hill Academy, a private school for preschoolers to eighth graders.

The havoc began from day one, when a little boy who tried to force Dante to hand over the yellow dump truck the mini devil had been playing with. The boy had subsequently gotten his hand bitten by the silver-haired four year-old. Vergil grew angry when the red-haired girl he liked ate the dandelions he had picked for her in the school's grassy playground, so he cut off the head of the Raggedy Ann doll she was playing with and wrote her name on the doll's apron, staining it with massive amounts of red paint.

Lucia had cried and thrown a container of Play-doh at him, angering him further and causing a remainder-of-the-day time out for both of them, but she got over it eventually as she got older.

After that, Dante had eyed his twin with shiftily. "That wathn't a very nithe thing to do to Luthia," he had told Vergil dubiously, shaking his head. He had been enrolled in speech classes, though it was hard to instruct a four year-old to not stick his tongue between his teeth when pronouncing words with _s_'s in them.

That didn't stop either of them from teaming up to cause trouble. There had been the time when Vergil put tacks on his teacher's chair. Dante would put copious amounts of Krazy Glue on his classmates' seats just before they sat down. While standing on top of the Playskool castle, Vergil could squeeze a bottle of lotion onto his unfortunate victims' heads, screaming "BIRD POOP!" When Dante got frustrated with a puzzle (he couldn't quite figure out that he was trying to jam the cardboard cow in backwards), he would burn it, and force-feed the ashes to whoever sat next to him.

That wasn't the end of it. Vergil set free the class mascot (a hamster named Snuggles) on the day that they both brought their pet python Cuddles in for show-and-tell. While the remainder of their class was in the process of being scarred for life with a demonstration on how the food chain works, Dante found it very necessary to "spill" a gallon of petrol in the music room, the room he had never grown to love on account of his being in speech classes instead. With surprising expertise for someone not quite three feet tall, he lit the match.

Needless to say, they did not finish their year there.

Eva Sparda might as well have been blind to the terror her little boys filled the students' and staff's hearts with. They were just so friggin' cute, from their silvery halo hair and toothy, beatific smiles down to their squeaky sneakers.

She had dismissed the professionally trained staff as incompetent and unfit, and so the little Sparda twins were home schooled up until first grade.

After that, they had entered the public school system and proceeded from where they left off at Diamond Hill.

Though things did not get much better there, Vergil and Dante were able to grow as normal boys—almost. They were unstoppable on the peewee soccer league, often beating the high school's best players. Vergil was a piano prodigy, while Dante was a drummer. As kindergarteners they started studying judo, karate, ninjitsu, jujitsu, taekwon do, and hapki do. By the time they were ten, they were fit for, as Dante (who had successfully conquered his speech impediment in first grade) put it, "thoroughly and utterly beat the living shit out of whoever tries to steal my peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwich."

It was also then, in the fourth grade, that both the twins had met Trish.

Trish had been the weird girl with the mullet back then. She wore baggy black clothes all the time and her scraggly blonde hair was grown down her back, and her blue-grey eyes that were the exact same color as Vergil and Dante's were always watchful, scrutinizing. She had gotten the soccer ball on the playground before either of the twins could nab it, and when Vergil tried taking it from her, even with all his martial arts training he found himself face-down on the ground in a headlock, with Trish sitting on his back and Dante groaning on the ground next to him.

Theirs was a grudging friendship at first, but it blossomed into something that made them nearly inseparable. Arm-wrestling at lunch, playing video games at the arcade, "borrowing" mopeds and racing them down busy streets, watching WWF matches at night. It was simple. They were kids, and they were fools. They had each other, boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts, and that's all they really needed.

Then they grew up. Vergil and Dante had gone from ducky-sock adorable to downright sexy as the years passed. From martial arts training to various sports (in addition to soccer, they were involved in lacrosse, fencing, rugby, and hockey), they were blessed with the kind of bodies you'd see male models flaunting in underwear advertisements, and had perfectly-sculpted, chiseled facial features a la James Dean. Troublesome as they were, they both had the most dangerous kind of natural charm (possibly one of the benefits of being half devil), the kind that you could use to get away with anything, though with their age they had downplayed the pranking.

Trish had grown up, too. She had trusted and stayed with the twins because they were the only true friends that she had before puberty hit. She grew out her mullet, took greater care to tend to her naturally straight blonde hair. She opted for tighter-fitting clothes once her body began to grow into something that caused Things to Happen in her more hormonal schoolmates' pants. She wore short skirts and makeup and took an hour deep conditioning and exfoliating but could still kick Vergil's ass on the Tekken games at the arcade and she still snuck out to watch late night wrestling with the guys.

Naturally they noticed it. Not like you'd notice a nice little apple in the fruit bowl, but the way you'd notice a huge slab of chocolate sitting on a plate in the middle of a table; you'd stare at it for hours and hours wondering why you hadn't seen it before and why no one else had eaten it yet.

But nothing up until that point had happened.

As far as twins went, though they shared the same mind and affinity for causing pandemonium, they naturally did not share quite the same interests. Dante was the technological and scientific genius, in accelerated courses for the computer tech and the sciences and in math. Vergil studied Latin and literature and art with more fervor than he would have for any course involving parabolas and coordinate planes. They took weapons training starting in first grade, specializing in swordsmanship and marksmanship, though Dante's gift with sais and elbow blades matched Vergil's preference for a dagger or cutlass. Vergil was the more outgoing one. Dante was more shy, although Vergil didn't quite understand how a guy who could very easily decapitate or castrate you with two blades could possible be shy.

He was, though—shy, that is. The junior formal was fast approaching and apparently Dante was having trouble finding a date, which Vergil found to be completely unbelievable. He threw aside all modesty—he knew he was sexy, and Dante being his identical twin, Dante was unbelievably hot, too. That's not saying that Vergil wasn't having problems with getting a date. Only his problem was that he didn't know who to pick out of the seventeen girls who had asked him.

He had found out about his brother's predicament about a week ago, when rumors were flying around that Dante Sparda would not be showing up at the formal. This resulted in attempts of suicide among a rather large group of girls in every grade.

_People more emo than me,_ he thought, brooding and adjusting his headphones so that he could hear the sultry tunes of Dashboard Confessional better.

"Tell me there isn't at least _one_ girl you've had your eye on for this," Vergil had said that day in the cafeteria as they were settling into their usual spot. Oddly enough, Trish wasn't there yet.

He remembered Dante looking rather mutinous for a sixteen year-old, jerkily bringing the spoon to his mouth, the spoon's contents looking dangerously unfoodlike. He ate it and swallowed, looking very much like he was doing everything to ignore his brother's question.

"Come on, D," said Vergil, taking on the role of patient brother.

Dante still said nothing and chewed, his blue-grey ice eyes stormy.

"Not one?"

Silence.

Vergil finally got fed up, threw his hands in the air, and asked in exasperation, "Dante, are you _gay_?"

The entirety of the cafeteria had gone deathly quiet. Vergil was staring hard at his twin, but he heard several clattering noises and from the corner of his eye it looked as if several girls had dropped their utensils on their trays, their own eyes going wide.

Dante instantly turned red behind the square spectacles he was wearing.

"I am NOT GAY," he sputtered loudly, getting up, his glasses askew. The sound of a lot of girls sighing in relief filled the cafeteria.

"Then how come you haven't got a date for the junior formal?" said Vergil.

"I'm girl impaired!" wailed Dante, looking miserable.

Vergil was on the edge of flying off the handle. "I'm gorgeous, almost twenty girls and counting want to get into my pants, and you look JUST LIKE ME!" He paused for a minute to let this proclamation inflate his ego before continuing. "If I can get a girl, so can you. And if it takes me to hell and back to get you a date, then so be it."

"Personality flaws," said Dante's muffled voice. He was attempting to once again consume the atrociously inedible-looking food.

"What?"

"Girls do not like shy guys," Dante explained as he motioned for Vergil to sit down again. "They find them completely and utterly unappealing because girls have sadistic minds and wish to be chased by dominating, aggressive alpha males such as yourself."

At first Vergil thought his brother had said "girls wish to be _chaste_," which he was about to respond was not the case with most girls he encountered, but he suddenly fully absorbed Dante's entire speech.

"Dante," he began incredulously, "Where did you get that load of utter crap from? Girls having sadistic minds is just about the only part of your little bit that you got on target."

"If I said _Men's Health_, would you believe me?"

"No."

"Fine." Dante sighed. "Just a theory. Think about it, Verg. That explains why you're a whore magnet and the only person who hits on me is the mailman."

Vergil was about to point out that that wasn't true, that he had caught the lunch lady staring at his bum on more than one occasion, and yes, there were loads of nice pretty virgins in the school who were itching to see Dante naked, when one of the vending machines randomly exploded and sent everyone into hysterics.

And back in the present, Vergil was walking down the corridors, and to his alarm, shackled at the wrists and being led to a his room by two girls that wear mesmerized by his leather trousers. He was trying not to let his mind reel. It was then that he realized that Dante had yet to find a date for that damned formal. Now, if Vergil were the type of person to go back on his promises, this wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest. But Vergil, bless his soul and damn it at the same time, was not that sort of person.

His own words reverberated in his head.

If I can get a girl, so can you.

_And if it takes me to hell and back to get you a date, then so be it._

"Dammit, Dante," he groaned out loud.

Of course, he didn't quite know at that moment how close to the truth his statement would soon become.

But that wasn't an issue of utmost urgency, at least not yet. He was consumed by the thoughts of playing a strip card game with the two girls who had him manacled.

Whoever they were.

------------

She had been sitting on the couch, cocktail glass in hand, looking very prettily disinterested. Sure, it was great, the music wasn't bad, and there was some considerable eye candy, but really, she wasn't exactly having a blast. Besides, hands-down, the two best-looking guys were the twins. That lightly tanned muscle and smooth skin and full soft lips and those bright ice orbs like sharply cut gems.

So it had been extremely convenient that Dante, dressed in all black, decided to stumble into the room at that moment.

Mat lay back, her head tilted to the side, her legs crossed modestly.

She wasn't used to the company of good-looking guys; after all, she'd spent her whole life surrounded by her seven ungainly, overprotective brothers. She seemed to have inherited all of her mother's and father's good genes, culminating in smooth ink black hair, pale smooth skin, and dark violet eyes flecked with spots of brown.

Matilda. That's what her parents decided to name her. Out of all the names they could have picked, they chose _Matilda_. A name she cringed at. The name her parents addressed her by. Matilda, Tilda, Tilly. Oh, God, Tilly. Even after she insisted that they refer to her simply as Mat. But no, they couldn't. Matt was one of her brother's names.

It was clear that Dante had been looking for her. She didn't feel arrogant thinking it. It was obvious by his purposeful stride and searching eyes, searching blue eyes that came to rest on her reclining form.

"Mat," he said, his voice wavery. It was amusing, and somehow it made her breathing grow a little labored. His usually artfully styled silver-white hair was in disarray and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top to reveal a smoothly muscled chest. His eyes blazed like dark silver-blue lights. He looked as if he'd been—

"Dante? Have you been _drinking_?"

His brow furrowed a bit. "Maybe."

"How much have you had?" she asked, motioning toward the bottle in his hands.

"Two."

"So you're not that trashed?"

"Not yet." He grinned and moved to the empty spot next to her, sitting to that their legs were close and parallel.

Something in the back of her mind stirred. Vergil had warned her one day in class that Dante was shy. Didn't he say that? Dante absentmindedly putting a hand on her thigh didn't seem very shy. She squeaked.

"Having a good time?" he asked conversationally.

She managed a nod. "Now I am," he thought she heard her mutter.

Alcohol, it seemed, was doing wonders for Dante's confidence. The devil in him was soaking it on in, multiplying the effect it had on him. Two bottles. Just two. He couldn't be so pissed yet.

Words were pouring out of his mouth at an alarming rate before he even knew he was saying them.

"You know, I've always wanted to start my own amusement park," he mused subconsciously, smiling and taking a swig from his bottle.

Mat was getting more than a little distracted. "A-an amusement park?" she asked. Oh, yes. A man of great ambition, Dante Sparda.

"Yes," purred Dante, his hair disheveled in a startlingly sexy way. His icicle eyes were unfocused, endearingly so even in his condition, and he smelled like alcohol and boy and vanilla and vaguely of spicy potato chips. "An amusement park." He edged closer to her, so close that she could feel his breath like a whisper on her neck.

Mat found his sudden proximity unsettling. She didn't know quite why.

"O-oh," she managed to reply. "Actually, I've always wanted to be a ride tester for an amusement park, so—EEEEEEH!" She let out a squeak as Dante suddenly swayed and tipped over, the back of his head landing in her lap painfully, smiling like an angel and winking. _He'd done it purposely! _she thought, a bit furious. Damn him for making her so uncomfortable. She glared.

Dante, however, looked largely unaffected. "Oh?" he asked lazily, looking up at Mat with a huge Cheshire cat grin. "That's great. Because I was hoping that you could test one of the main features that I've planned. A Dante Sparda original."

Mat looked annoyed. "Oh really?" she said irritably, taking a sip of her martini between sentences. "And what would that be?"

"I've got to work out some of the details, but I've got it down for the most part." The corners of his mouth twitched, his smile growing wider, which she had previously thought impossible. "I call it Sex: The Ride."

Mat choked on the olive from her martini.

Suddenly Dante seemed to sober, the smirk dissolving from his face.

"I've got you," he said in a low whisper, though Mat was bewildered and couldn't comprehend quite why he said that. If there was an olive lodged in your throat, you probably wouldn't have been able to think straight, either.

Then everything that followed went very fast. All of a sudden she felt Dante's strong arms encircling her stomach, pulling her abruptly to a standing position. Then he was pushing his fist in and upward towards his ribcage, doing this maybe three times, before the olive dislodged itself from her throat and flew out of her mouth, ricocheting off a lamp and bouncing harmlessly to the floor.

Panting, she blinked as her mind started to absorb the events that had taken place seconds before.

Dante. Drink. Amusement park. Sex. Ride. Choke.

_Choke._

Oh, hell.

She steadily flushed when she realized he had her in a front to back hug.

Dante seemed to notice it too. He dropped his hands hastily.

"Right—now that you're out of imminent danger—"

"What kind of danger? Me nearly choking to death or from your feigned intoxicated perversions?"

"That was _not_ feigned," protested Dante indignantly.

"Speak for yourself, Mr. I'm-Suddenly-Sober-When-A-Girl-In-a-Very-Short-Skirt-Is-In-Trouble."

"You know, I'm just going by Dante now."

She muttered something under her breath derisively.

"Would you rather I didn't do anything?" he asked irritably, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "Geez, the things I do for strangers. And anyway, I really was pretty out of it. I just came out quick I guess it was because of my de—"

He stopped short. _Shut up,_ he hissed inwardly. _She doesn't know._

Of course she didn't know that he and Vergil were half devil. It had been something of a well-guarded secret. Aside from his parents, only Trish and Lucia knew anything of it. Although it would bring many interesting things to talk about at parties, Dante would not go up to someone and say, "Hi, I'm Dante, son of Hell's greatest Dark Knight, Sparda, can I get you a drink?"

He snapped back to attention as Mat scoffed.

"Because of your what?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing him with mounting distrust.

"Nothing," he said hastily. Feeling suddenly bold, he managed a grin. "Hey, Mat?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go to my room. I've got some games we can play that I think you're going to _really_ enjoy."

Despite his, Mat decided to take his arm and follow him. Fuck the consequences. She was positive that whatever games they were going to play, it wasn't going to be anything like Monopoly.

------------

Much to Trish's relief, the girl in the bunny suit was wearing underwear. She had dragged the girl into the garden, the dense garden full of odd exotic ferns and lush lurid flowers that made it almost a rainforest. She had proceeded to undress the unconscious women, which was very hard because the clothes were so tight, barely looking like they would have fit Trish herself. She hastily hid the girl behind a patch of violently bright pink flowers, held all of the girl's costume in one fist (there wasn't, after all, very much to hold), and stalked inside.

A long time later she emerged from her room, relieved that neither Vergil nor Dante had spotted her. It had been very, very difficult to get into…whatever it was she was wearing. The bunny ears flopped dangerously over her eyes, and with the fluffy cottony tail waggling on her bum, she felt absolutely ridiculous. The velvet corset-like top was lined with silk, but it was nothing short of skintight; and, as she suspected, the carrot was definitely not intended for purposes even remotely related to eating.

She had to take small steps down the stairs as she went. Predictably, a good number of guys whistled as she went past, carrying the carrot with a murderous glint in her eye. Just what had possessed her to do this? She wasn't quite sure yet, but she knew that somehow, her utter humiliation and discomfort would pay off in the end, even in some odd weird twisted way.

"How much for that little white number to come off?"

Trish grit her teeth. It was one of the guys that had come with that Mat girl. Len?—no, Luca. God, pervert, get away from me.

"Sorry, _mon amie,_ she is mine," said a whispery, slightly accented voice from behind her.

Trish turned around to be greeted by Lucia's pretty face.

""Ello, Trish" said the red-haired girl with an ethereal smile as Luca ambled off.

"Oh, bloody hell," groaned the blonde girl. "Just who I need to run into."

Lucia's smile did not waver. "I take it you are not 'appy to see me?" She pushed a stray strand of ruby red away from her face. "Well, _je t'aime_ to you, too. Although I must say, Trish, you must start thinking a bit more imaginatively." She shook her head. "Really. The bunny getup doesn't exactly score points for originality. You might as well 'ave jumped out of the twins' cake with nothing on but a g-string."

"Shove it, missy," Trish snarled.

Trish's predictions had been right. Lucia was wearing her leather boots, white leather pants, a green top that hardly covered her expansive bosom, and a black bomber jacket. Most of her hair was gathered in a braid that started behind her right ear.

Lucia still looked largely unaffected by Trish's rather hostile attitude. "This is a wild guess, but I'm thinking this 'as something to do with the unconscious mademoiselle in the garden?"

Trish's eyes narrowed. "So what if it does?"

The flame-haired girl scoffed. "It is nothing," she replied breezily. "Anyway I 'id 'er in the shed. Much less—'ow do you say—conspicuous?"

Trish grudgingly nodded her thanks.

"She was coming to, so I knocked 'er out with a blow to the 'ead," said Lucia, matter-of-factly. "Anyway. I suppose it would be useless to ask why you are dressed like one of those 'orribly bothered little rodents? Personally I 'ardly find it attractive. Rabbits 'ave buckteeth."

"Don't know," said Trish, feeling guilty for being a bitch to Lucia. The redhead had, after all, taken care of a few points Trish forgot to cover. And she did have a point. "I'll figure everything out soon."

Lucia looked at her through piercing beer bottle green eyes. "You better," she said ominously. "I 'ave a feeling that we are going to find ourselves in a bit of a predicament tonight."

Trish snorted. "Of _course_ there will be a predicament," she said. "There are a lot of hormonal teenagers running around brandishing bottles of alcohol that will soon be empty. The opposite effect will happen to the rooms in this manor. "

Lucia's eyes darkened.

"No," she said, looking slightly worried. "More than that. Much more."

* * *

He was still cuffed.

They had started playing a half an hour ago, in the privacy of his bedroom, and he was still cuffed, the shiny, reflective silver manacles tight around his wrists.

And he _still_ didn't know their names.

One girl was tall, shapely, brown-haired. Her eyes were a deep, night-sky blue. Pretty. Down to a pair of cargos and her bra, not much else.

The other girl was pretty, too. Had on a shirt and her underwear, and "underwear" hardly seemed an appropriate term for what she was wearing. Dark brown hair and emerald eyes that reminded him of Lucia, though in his opinion Lucia was definitely much prettier.

Vergil still had all of his clothes on.

They should have known better, Vergil thought smugly. They should have known better than to take me on.

He lay down his cards.

"Two aces," he said.

The girl on his right, the one with Lucia eyes, looked at him doubtfully.

"Bullshit," she said.

Vergil smirked as he turned the cards over. Ace of spades, ace of hearts.

"Sucks for you, doll," he told her sweetly as she grumbled something and put the entire pile into her hand. "Shirt. Off."

She peeled off her shirt without protest.

The girl to his left, the blue-eyed one, selected a card from her deck. "One two."

"Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit," sang Vergil, surveying all of the two's in his hand with glee. He watched with interest as she took back her queen and took off her rather tight-fitting pants, though she insisted on hiding behind the bed when she did so. Vergil allowed this. The ends did justify the means, after all. She promptly rose up in nothing but a pair of silk panties and her bra.

Other girl's turn. Vergil smiled. They both were down to pretty much nothing, and in addition had insisted that all the twenty some-odd bracelets on their wrists be counted as articles of clothing, which Vergil had accepted anyway. Though he didn't understand why they wore bracelets of silver, studded with emeralds and other green gems.

"Cute," he said admirably, using his knowledge of jewelry. "And of an excellent cut, too. But you'd have been better off wearing gold jewelry with this outfit—besides, my mother said silver was becoming less enviable because of the mass loads of silver they unearthed in South America."

The girl with green eyes smiled strangely, her teeth flashing like white stars, and said, "We're not quite into gold jewelry."

He tucked that away into the back of his mind.

He had ignored that, and smiled. He was good. He could have beaten them easily by laying down his last cards, but he strategized. He wouldn't stop until one or more of them were naked. After all, strip games weren't fun if at least one person doesn't lose _all _of their clothes.

Then somehow things took a turn against him.

It had come to his turn. Lay down a five, say as smooth as you please, "One seven."

"Bullshit."

That had come as a shock to him as he peeled off the white chamois sweater he was wearing, with some difficulty, and it remained bunched around his lower arms still because of the fact that he was still in chains. What the hell. He had all the sevens in his hand, too…

Then, when he slipped again, the black shirt he had under it was ordered off.

Then, the leather trousers.

He was sitting there, handcuffed in a pair of black and red checkered boxers, wondering how this could have happened when he realized several things at once.

One, the cuffs were a shining, mirror-like silver.

Two, the blue-eyed girl had taken an excessively long time trying to get her pants off (which would have annoyed Vergil anyway, but in these circumstances he was more alarmed than irked).

Three, he didn't have any clue who they were.

Four, they didn't like gold.

Five, he was at a slight disadvantage to handle any weapon…

He sucked in his breath, his brain sending warning signals to the rest of his body. As he started to realize all of his, he tensed. Stupid him. _Stupid, idiotic, foolish him._ Oh, the devil fucking damn it, this wasn't good. Add one more to the list as the girls' eyes suddenly blazed and they drew the katanas that the blue-eyed girl hid under the bed, and started advancing on Vergil.

Six, he was in deep shit.

------------------------------------

So that's chapter two! A bit of suspense for that, and I'll admit, I lied a little when I said that they wouldn't be slaying demons ::sweatdrop:: This _is_ part of an actual plot I have somewhere in my head. Those girls didn't appear out of nowhere.

Chapter three's probably going to be up sometime about a week. So yeah. Expect to see some demon-slaying, more Vergil in chains, Dante playing some very special games in his room, Trish doesn't like automatic flush toilets, and Lucia has kilt fetish. A visit from a masked killer is probably in order, with surprising results. Yes. Craziness abounds once again.

Review review review! You get cookies and love if you do

**REFERENCES**

"I've got to work out some of the details, but I've got it down for the most part." The corners of his mouth twitched, his smile growing wider, which she had previously thought impossible. "I call it Sex: The Ride."

– I have no clue where the whole Sex: The Ride bit is from. I'm pretty sure I hear/read it from somewhere, but where? Most likely some random joke from a '91 edition of Reader's Digest, but anyone who can source it directly wins a medal.


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